


Special Class

by SunnyD_lite



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Wolfram & Hart, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where Lindsey wasn't involved in Spike's re-corporealization, Spike tries to walk away from Wolfram & Hart. Even the simplest of plans can go horribly wrong. And we know Spike hates to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Class

“And where do you think that you’re going?”

Spike looked the linebacker of a guard up and down. “Out,” he said with a push to the poorly disguised troll’s shoulder. Did this lot not even try to fit in?

“Assets are not allowed to leave the building unsupervised.” The guard’s stance widened a little, but it was more the three others behind him that gave Spike pause. 

“Oi, not anyone’s ass-set. Finally got my sea-legs, don’t I? And these,” he pointed to his Docs which had come back annoyingly polished, he’d have to fix that, “boots are make for walking.”

“Sorry Spike,” a voice behind the first guard said, “but he’s right. No asset, incorporeal or otherwise, of Wolfram and Hart is to leave the premises without being signed out and, if permission is granted, shall not leave the presence of the signing party.” The guard stepped aside to show slight, if well-dressed, associate, Singh he thought, holding a file. A file which had the name 'Bloody, William the aka Spike' on the label.

Spike raised an eyebrow. Words were these folks’ bread and butter, but even they should see the sticking point. “Not so incorporeal now, am I? Shove off, mate.”

The ‘mate’ stood firm. “Or otherwise. You entered the firm as part of a piece of be-spelled jewelry. That jewelry is property of Wolfram and Hart, ergo.”

“I’ll er- your- go – free vamp here and here is not where I’m planning to stay.” He took another step forward, only to find himself lifted from the ground by the first guard. It put his feet in direct line with the bloke’s knees, or, if he swings a bit higher...

A familiar, somewhat friendly voice came from behind him, “Spike.”

“Hey there Charlie, don’t mind me, just hanging around. Tell your gorilla to let me go.”

“Mr. Gunn, Oswald is only following proper protocol--” the Chatty Cathy associate started.

“In accordance with the updated firm policy dated November 23, 2002, clause 129.04 sub (c ). I know,” completed Gunn without even taking a breath. “While you’re correct to stop him if the property in question belonged to Wolfram and Hart, you have to let him go.”

“What he said.” Spike pulled back for an epic kick.

“Because, upon further investigation I think you’ll find he’s not Wolfram’s property, but Angel’s.”

“What?” came out of both Spike and the associate’s mouth.

##

And that’s how he found himself BACK in the poof’s office. He did take a moment as the rest of them were nattering to enjoy the sun through the necrotempered glass before flopping across one of the club chairs. 

“Look, I know you lot charge by the minute, but can someone sum it up? I’m me. I’m no-one property.” He ignored competing coughed ‘Druscilla’ and ‘Buffy’. “So, since I’m mine.” He pushed himself out of the chair and began walking towards the door. 

“This isn’t settled – Signh care to tell Spike what happens to firm property that leaves without permission.”

“The incineration spell at the door is invoked, then the property is re-constituted and …”

“Fine. One fire is enough.” He spun on his heel and glared at Angel, who was slumped over his desk. “Fix this ‘Grand-Sire’.”

“Gunn,” came out of the pile of poof. And then it was dueling law-speak.

“All incorporeal property including intellectual property--”

“Well that rules him out” muttered Lorne. 

“Thanks, mate. Wait a minute--”

Wonder- minion continued, but was wise enough not to add to the glare coming from Angel. “All incorporeal property created within the firm, belongs to the firm. Since The Bloody comma William, also known as Spike, appeared within the firm – he’s an asset of Wolfram and Hart. He was entered into the logs at the time of his first appearance. ” With that, the associate closed the file with what would have been a slap if the file hadn’t been too soft for it.

Gunn took a step towards the desk. “That would be the case.”

“Chuckie! I believed in you.”

“But-” he continued with an eyeroll.

“-and that’s more like it.”

“Angel’s agreement with the firm allowed him to keep separate a class of assets he brought into the partnership. There is no dispute that the Hyperion is still in his name.”

“Which reminds me I need to pay the property taxes on that,” Angel muttered scribbling something onto what looked like a to-do list. Spike glanced at it again, did that say full moon? Had Angel gone all traditional?

“And, the package, which granted did arrive after Angel took his position at Wolfram and Hart, was addressed to him personally, and not to him in his capacity with the firm. Ergo, Spike’s part of the special class.”

“You can say that again,” muttered Angel.

“And not an asset of the firm.” 

Chuckie, unlike office drone 47, finished with a flourish. Bloke did have style, even if he was leaning towards the Brookier side of Brothers these days, Spike mused until he untangled what had been said.

“Wait a minute – I don’t belong to ANGEL!”

“I certainly don’t want him!”

“Any unclaimed IP instantly reverts back to the firm,” added the minion. 

Chuckie kicked the poof. The poof sighed. “Fine, he’s mine.”

There was another flurry of forms, “In which case you need to sign these, initialize here, here, and here.” 

Spike toyed with the idea of interfering, but it seemed to be getting Angel’s dander up and that was always fun. 

After the pen was dropped, the minion continued, “and we’ll deduct the amount of the damages which were traceable back to Mr. um Spike out of your next paycheck,” another glance at the file, “or rather checks.”

“SPIKE!”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Snarky Spike, how I've missed you. This is from a prompt (Incorporeal) from Livejournal community: Taming The Muse


End file.
